


in heavy mist, in glitter dust

by paravin



Series: last to see the light [9]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Forced Prostitution, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29534298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paravin/pseuds/paravin
Summary: Crow has a complicated relationship with money.
Relationships: The Crow & Glint (Destiny), The Crow & Osiris (Destiny)
Series: last to see the light [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180733
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	in heavy mist, in glitter dust

**Author's Note:**

> heavily extrapolated from that one line in the new season where Crow tells Osiris re. his new clothes, “You haven’t let me pay for any of this.” 
> 
> no explicit noncon in this one but one section deals with Spider putting Crow to less-than-wholesome uses so please proceed with caution as required.
> 
> thank you to [GuiltyPleasuresandDeadlySins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuiltyPleasuresAndDeadlySins/) whose prompt provided the necessary nudge to get this finished - I am v sorry if this isn't what you were hoping for!

They loiter for a while.

Wrack pretends not to notice, busying herself with repairing the sticky trigger of a pulse rifle, but she can’t help the odd glance over when their conversation drifts into earshot.

“-sure it’s safe?”

“Of course not. But nowhere’s going to be safe when the only weapon I’ve got is a sidearm which won’t fire.”

Wrack smirks to herself. They’re not the most subtle pair, a chatty ghost and a scrawny lightbearer hiding beneath a tattered shroud, but she’s dealt with less reputable folk. If they’re not going to the Tower for repairs, they must have good reason, but Wrack didn’t get where she is by asking unwanted questions.

It’s another few minutes before they approach, slipping between the metal sheeting that surrounds her workyard, and Wrack looks up from the rifle as the ghost inches forward. “Ms Hydro-5?”

She tenses at the name but gives the ghost a nod in greetings. “Wrack.”

“Wrack,” the ghost corrects, apologetic. “We, uh, we’re having some problems with one of our guns and we heard you might be able to help us fix it.”

“You _heard_ , did you?” Her eyes sweep over the lightbearer, still hidden away beneath his cloak. “You don’t seem like the talkative type.”

“We saw some of your clients,” the lightbearer admits. “We’re better at observing than talking.”

Something about his voice tugs at her, like grit in her system, but she clears her tools out of the way as she gestures to the bench. “Alright, observer, let’s see it.”

The ghost retreats as the lightbearer sets the gun down. His fingers are Awoken-gray beneath the dirt and Wrack reaches for her flashlight as she inspects the gun. “Huh. Don’t look too difficult to fix. Scratched up though — what’d you do, drop a grenade on it?”

“Something like that,” the lightbearer says. “Can you fix it?”

It’s an easy job, a fresh barrel and some work on the grip, but Wrack feigns consideration as she looks the gun over again. The lightbearer fidgets, inching closer, and Wrack takes advantage of the opening to shine the light up into his face. 

He rears back like he’s been struck, fumbling to pull his hood down further, as though she doesn’t now know she’s got the former most wanted man in the system on her doorstep. His hand goes to his hip but with his gun on her table, there’s nothing he can do to defend himself, and it’s left to the ghost to plead, “Don’t. He isn’t who you think.”

“Of course not,” Wrack says, letting sarcasm drip through. “Just a stray lightbearer, looking for some repairs, right?” She looks up at him again. “I can fix it. For 15,000 glimmer.”

The ghost’s eye widens. “ _15,000_? We’ve seen you repair far worse for less than a third of that.”

“Glint,” the lightbearer warns. 

The ghost floats up to him, voice lowering, but Wrack can still pick up on his whisper, “It’s taken you weeks to save up this much! You need to use it for passage away from here — if that titan comes back like he promised-”

“I need a gun,” the lightbearer says, quiet and defeated, “and it’s not like there’s anyone else who’s willing to trade with us. I can find more salvage to pay for a ship.”

“And food?” the ghost asks. “You’ve barely eaten for days. You need-”

His voice shifts lower, beyond her audio range, and Wrack ignores the twist of pity in her core. The infamous prince of the Awoken must have had everything handed to him on a plate in his previous life; the least she can do is make him work for it a little now.

The ghost lets out a reluctant little whirr but on the lightbearer’s signal, a pile of glowing cubes appear on her workbench. 

“That’s 14,200,” the lightbearer says. “Will you accept a barter for the rest?” His fingers brush his ammo belt, then his finely crafted gauntlet. “I don’t know what would be most useful to you but whatever you want-”

Wrack holds a hand up to quieten him. As much as she likes the thought of taking the very clothes off Uldren Sov’s back, he looks almost pitiful like this and she shows mercy. “14,200 will be enough. You can pay the rest in silence — you never came here and I never saw you, you understand?”

The lightbearer nods, desperate and relieved, and Wrack scoops the glimmer up with glee. “Come back in an hour and you’ll have your gun.” She smirks. “Try not to die too much before then.”  


———

  
Etrysk wakes to the sound of his door being kicked down.

He scrambles for his rifle, landing a blind shot in the direction of the intruder, but he freezes when a mechanical voice responds, “I wouldn’t recommend that.”

Etrysk runs through possible outcomes — whether he can land a headshot, what the consequences would be if he misses — but another voice comes before he can decide, “Drop the rifle. Even if you get lucky, I have a nasty habit of coming back from the dead.”

Defeat washes over him and Etrysk’s hands tremble as he drops the rifle to the floor.

He’s heard of the Spider’s enforcer before, has even seen some of the bloody aftermath of his handiwork, but having him here, in his house, makes Etrysk want to vomit with fear.

“Don’t shoot,” he pleads, standing up from behind his couch with all four arms raised. “I- I didn’t know it was you.”

The enforcer’s eyes glow beneath his hood as he steps over Etrysk’s broken door. He’s smaller than Etrysk expected, draped in the Spider’s insignia with his drone following at his shoulder, but even when he slips his weapon back into his holster, there’s no disguising the power coursing through him.

“You know why I’m here, Etrysk,” the enforcer says. He sounds displeased, tired even, but not angry. “You owe Baron Spider a debt.”

He moves forward, those terrifying eyes glancing around Etrysk’s home, and Etrysk shifts to stand in front of the doorway to the bedroom as he stammers, “I- I know. I’m getting Spider the money, I am, but work’s been slow at the moment and I-”

A bright knife appears in the enforcer’s hand. It’s the same gold as his eyes and the glow of it lights his face beneath the hood. “You know the Baron doesn’t tolerate excuses. Not when he’s held up his end of the deal.”

Etrysk can’t take his eyes off the knife. “I-I’ll get it. I just need-”

The enforcer moves faster than Etrysk can track, closing the distance between them in a blur, and he cries out when the sharp edge of the enforcer’s knife presses tight against his throat. He reaches out, trying to defend himself, but the enforcer’s eyes lock onto his in a warning.

“You’ll get it _now_ ,” the enforcer demands. “All of it.”

“Okay,” Etrysk stammers, “okay, I’ll get it, just please-”

The door squeaks behind him and for a second Etrysk is certain his heart stops in terror. The enforcer glances back and then down, tightening his grip on both Etrysk and the knife, and Etrysk doesn’t miss the way his eyes widen a fraction in shock.

“Please,” Etrysk whispers, quieter, “I’ll give you everything I have, just please don’t-”

The enforcer shoves him back with a noise of frustration. The knife disappears in a shower of sparks and he folds his arms across his chest as Etrysk stumbles back to his feet. “I’m not going to hurt your kid.”

It shouldn’t mean much, especially from the Spider’s most feared enforcer, but Etrysk relaxes a little anyway at the confirmation. 

When he turns, Aprys is peering up at him from around the bottom of the door, her stuffed servitor clutched in her hands, and Etrysk forces a reassuring smile as he crouches in front of her. “Go back to bed, sweetheart. Your dad just needs to talk to his friend.”

Aprys eyes him doubtfully and Etrysk leans in to kiss her forehead as he promises, “I’ll be right there to read you a story, okay? Go pick out which one you want to hear tonight.”

With one last glance past him at the enforcer, Aprys pads off to her bookshelf and Etrysk exhales as he closes the door behind her. 

“How much do you have?” The enforcer’s voice is softer now, although Etrysk can’t ignore the edge of iron it still carries. “The real answer, not whatever bullshit you were going to feed me before.”

“Just north of twenty,” Etrysk admits. “I have enough furniture here that maybe I could get an extra couple of thousand, assuming I can find someone willing to buy at this hour, but I’m still two or three short.”

The enforcer presses his lips together and Etrysk pleads, “I can get the rest. I just need Spider to give me a couple more days.”

“He’s given you more than enough time,” the enforcer says. “He doesn’t exactly send me as a warning.” He sighs. “Bring me everything you have. _Everything_.”

With a nod, Etrysk scrambles to obey, retrieving every last scrap of glimmer and depositing them all at the enforcer’s feet. He hears the little mechanical voice of the drone again as he hurries back and forth, whispering in the enforcer’s ear, “What if Spider counts it?”

“He won’t,” the enforcer murmurs. “He knows I wouldn’t come back without finishing the job.”

“Which is exactly what you’d be doing,” the drone hisses. “Last time-”

“I can handle it. Who knows, maybe the difference will be small enough for me to make it up.”

Etrysk loses the thread of the conversation as he rummages in the back of the kitchen cabinets. His palms are sweaty as he drops the last of the glimmer at the enforcer’s feet and watches as the drone circles it.

“How much?” the enforcer asks.

“21,763,” the drone says. “It’s close.”

The enforcer nods. He looks younger in the blue glow of the glimmer, lip caught between his teeth as he weighs up some unknown options. 

“It’ll do,” he says eventually, and the drone makes it disappear at his command. Those yellow eyes find Etrysk’s again as the enforcer says, “If Baron Spider asks, you paid back in full, understand?”

Etrysk blinks in disbelief. “You…”

The enforcer takes a step forward. “Understand?”

“Yes, I understand!” He wipes his palms on his pants, heart pounding. “Thank you.”

The enforcer’s lips twist in an empty smile as he retreats to the door. “Some advice for you, Etrysk: be more careful about the deals you take.” His gaze flickers to the bedroom door. “Especially if there’s someone you don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”  


———

  
“You know, I’ve done a lot of deals,” Ittro says, taking a long sip of his whisky, “but this arrangement? Definitely one of the most enjoyable.”

His host chuckles, wheezing past his rebreather, and Ittro doesn’t have to force the grin he gives him in response.

Of all his contacts, Spider is the one he finds most alien. He’s the antithesis of what the Legion taught Ittro to respect — dishonorable, manipulative, underhanded — but if he’s learned anything from the Reef, it’s never to turn down allies. 

Besides, what he lacks in honor, Spider more than makes up for in usefulness.

“You’ve played your part,” Spider says. “I believe in celebrating profitable relationships with the respect they deserve.”

Ittro shakes his head with a smile. “That’s a tactful way of phrasing it.”

“I suppose tact was never the Cabal’s strong suit,” Spider says, smirking. “How would you put it then?” 

_You just let me fuck your prized pet in exchange for classified intelligence_ , Ittro thinks but doesn’t voice. “Let’s just say I appreciate the currency you use for these more, uh, valuable deals.”

Spider’s laugh is almost mocking. “I’m sure my _currency_ is grateful for the compliment.” 

His lower hand twitches and Ittro takes a long sip of his drink when Spider’s pet appears at his side in an instant. He’s only half-dressed still, thin pants sitting low on his hips, and Ittro can’t help his rumble of approval at the bruises and bitemarks littering his torso. 

‘Beautiful’ feels like the wrong word, particularly compared to the splendor of Torobatl, but it’s the one that sticks with him. Like most humanoids, Spider’s pet is too skinny, none of the muscle or bulk Ittro would typically look for in a partner, but even with the marks of hard use still stamped across his body, Ittro still aches to draw fresh whimpers from him.

He watches the pet refill Spider’s glass and asks, curious, “Why do you share him?”

Spider’s four eyes narrow and Ittro holds a hand up. “Not that I’m complaining,” he clarifies, “but I know you aren’t short on more conventional types of currency. Why use him?”

His pet moves to slip back into the shadows but Spider catches his wrist before he can retreat. The pet flinches, shoulders tensing, but he sinks to his knees beside Spider’s chair with a discipline that would’ve made Ittro’s old commander proud. 

“Let’s just say it’s beneficial for all parties,” Spider drawls.

Ittro smirks. It was clear enough from the evening’s activities that Spider liked to watch, but it’s good to have confirmation that his observation of the proceedings wasn’t merely professional caution. 

“I may be generous with my employees,” Spider continues, “but I know how to manage my resources. Ether may be finite, constrained by the number of servitors on hand, but my little bird here? The very definition of a renewable resource.”

Ittro suspects he knows the answer but asks anyway, “Do you pay him for it? His _service_ , I mean.”

Spider laughs, sharp and cruel. Something wretched flickers in his pet’s eyes but it’s gone in an instant. 

“He owes me a debt,” Spider says, carding his long fingers through his pet’s hair. “I took him in when no-one else would, you see. Gave him food and shelter, and protection from those who sought to harm him. All this…” He gestures vaguely to the bed, to the marks left by Iffro’s fingers on soft skin. “Well, it’s the least he can do to repay me.”

Ittro makes a noise of understanding but this time his answering grin is forced. “Then I’m glad to be a beneficiary of those repayments.”

Spider lets out a rattling chuckle as he looks back down at his pet and Ittro’s smile fades.

Despite some people’s misapprehensions, Ittro isn’t stupid. He knows full well that a debt of that kind will never be repaid, and from the weight that sits heavy on those thin shoulders, he’s certain that Spider’s pet knows it too.  


———

  
“Glint…”

With the engines off, the ship is quiet enough that Osiris hears the whirr of his shell rotating when Glint asks, “You don’t like it?”

“Of course I like it,” Crow says. “But this material—”

“It’s so soft!” Glint says happily. “That’s why I picked it! It’s much nicer than that cloak Spider had you wear.”

That isn’t saying much; Osiris is fairly sure he’s handled literal rags in better condition than Crow’s previous cloak. Still, there’s a strange level of discomfort in Crow’s voice when he replies, “This isn’t cheap. I can’t afford this.”

“Consider it’s a gift,” Osiris says.

From the way Crow jumps as he rounds the corner, he hadn’t known he was so close. He’s mostly dressed, with the chest piece and arms fitted in place and only the boots left to put on, and Osiris reaches out to straighten the mantle where it hangs askew across his shoulders. “Definitely an improvement from before.”

His hood is down but that doesn’t stop Crow trying to duck beneath it anyway. “You don’t need to do this. I can pay you for it.”

“Oh? Did you keep a secret stash of funds hidden out of the Spider’s reach?”

“Not exactly,” Crow admits.

Osiris’ lips quirk in a smile, hidden beneath the cowl. “Do you even have more than a thousand glimmer to your name at present?”

“We have 1,167 glimmer!” Glint chimes in. “Wait, 1,175 if you count the eight we found behind a dumpster on the way here.”

Crow’s cheeks darken with shame and Osiris sighs. This level of concern for Crow’s wellbeing is still new and not something he particularly enjoys experiencing.

“You will have plenty of opportunity to earn more as a Guardian,” he reassures him. “The Vanguard have agreed a passable stipend for the reconnaissance work I’ve recommended you for, and with the amount of skirmishes you’ll see out in the field, I suspect you’ll soon have more than you know what to do with.”

Crow eases a little at that and Osiris rests a hand on his shoulder. “The gift is not without its conditions though.”

Crow’s head snaps up, his eyes wide, but Osiris just nods to the mask resting beside the boots as he reminds him, “You must keep your face covered at all times in the Tower. The Vanguard has enough to focus on at present without dealing with the issue of your identity.”

Crow nods. “Of course.” He fidgets, tugging the edges of his gauntlet into place, and Osiris steps back to allow him to finish dressing. “I’ll pay you back for all of it as soon as I have the money.”

“Are you truly that unfamiliar with the concept of a gift?” Osiris teases, but it comes out sharper than he intended. “You will do no such thing.”

“But I—”

He falls silent under the force of Osiris’ glare, but Osiris exhales when he sees him start to retreat into himself again. 

“I assure you,” he promises, “it is no imposition on my side.” He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck when he admits, embarrassed, “It turns out founding a cult is surprisingly lucrative, however inadvertent it may have been.”

Crow tilts his head in confusion and Osiris decides it’s time to make his exit before this conversation moves onto topics he’d rather not discuss.

“Just enjoy the new clothes,” he says, backing up another step. “Consider it a reward for your work with the High Celebrant if you must.”

From the look on Crow’s face, he’s as unfamiliar with rewards as he is with gifts, but the fact that he’s done something to earn it seems to provide some comfort. Glint hops up by Crow’s shoulder with an insistent demand to _Try the boots on!_ and Osiris takes advantage of the distraction to slip away into the cockpit. 

As he prepares for takeoff to the City, he ponders how difficult it would be to convince Zavala to increase Crow’s stipend from ‘passable’ to ‘generous’.


End file.
